Prologue

The damn alarm system was still going off.

Detective Barnes growled softly to himself and pulled his collar
up tighter against himself, as if it would block out the tinny blaring sound of
the ancient security system. Why hadn’t they flipped that damn thing off yet?
It had been over two hours since the murder.

The gallery was dark and empty at this time of night. The
floors that by day saw hundreds of shoes —the sneakers of art students and sensible
heels f art curators and floppy sandals of tourists — were now spit-shined to a
new polish, prepared in eager anticipation for the dawn when the shoes would
come to scuff them up again.

And then there were the bodies.

Detective Barnes liked to think he’d seen the worst that New
York City had to offer. After ten years as a detective and another ten before
that as a beat cop, he’d seen his fair share of gristly killings, horrific
shootouts and heart wrenching suicides. But this was on a whole other level.

He walked over the polished floor to the edge of the pool of
blood, noticing with some tiny amount of relief that as he got closer, the cacophony
of the alarm grew slightly quieter. He peered at the mess before him.

Two men were dead, apparently by each other’s hands. Barnes wrinkled
his nose as he carefully stepped around the crime scene. He’d seen
murder-suicides before but those usually involved a gun. Hard to imagine one
had been used here.

The bodies were mashed together, as if they had simply
rammed each other like bulls and died from the impact. But that didn’t explain
the gashes and gouges taken out of each other’s flesh, the huge pool of blood
on the floor and the lack of a murder weapon.

Barnes skirted the lip of the pool — not always easy to see
in the dim night lights of the gallery — and examined what he could make out of
the bodies. Both were museum employees, that was certain. One was a security
guard by the color of his clothes and the belt of various tools that he wore. The
other was harder to ascertain. Probably an executive or one of the junior
curators going by his suit. His entire belly had been slashed open and his
innards spilled onto the body of his companion. Barnes closed his eyes at this,
memories of dying hogs from his childhood filling his mind. Of his father
reaching inside and pulling the guts out of a carcass.

He took a step back, trying to focus on the task at hand so
that nostalgia didn’t consume him. He considered the scene before him as
objectively as he could:

So one attacked the
other…probably the guard in some kind of revenge plot? Maybe he’d been fired? But
there’s no sign of a struggle and with this amount of damage you’d think there’d
at least be some spattering of the blood.

He glanced around but found no evidence before him to
support his claim.

So what? They just
tackled each other and tore at each other like animals until they both died?

It certainly looked that way.

Why didn’t the guard
go for his gun? Or his baton? Why wasn’t the exec trying to defend himself?

Barnes scratched at his stubble, trying to suss it out. The
blaring alarm behind him grated on his nerves. What was with this case?

This whole scenario was bizarre. Normally they’d have the
full team down here: forensics, photographer, security cops, ambulance, etc.
But this time it had just been him. The Commander had simply given him the
address and told him to wait.

But for what? What was the hold up in investigating?

“Detective Barnes?”

He turned at the voice, certain that his hearing was
conjuring up false beings from the assault of the alarm. Barnes squinted into
the darkness in disbelief.

A man had entered the gallery, dressed in a long dark coat
with his collar turned up and a gray scarf wound around his neck like a noose. With
his thin stature and spindly fingers, he called to mind the image of a gaunt
Sherlock Holmes.

Barnes approached him, one hand drifting towards his
concealed gun. “Sir, this area is in lockdown. I’m going to have to ask you to…”
He trailed off, noticing a smaller figure entering the room behind the man.

It was a girl, barely more than seven years old. Her wispy
dark hair was loose about her shoulders and her eyes darted about the room,
taking in everything except him. Her hands twitch and clutched desperately at
each other. She seemed not to hear the alarms.

Barnes tore his gaze away from the child, holding up his
hand to stop the progress of the man.

“Sir, please leave this area at once.” He said sternly.

The newcomer chuckled, a dark sound that filled the
emptiness of the gallery with echoes and whispers. “We’re who you are waiting
for Detective Barnes.” He said, barely raising his voice. “Unless you want to
stand here like a fool all night, you’d better let us help you.”

Barnes raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Who sent you?” He
asked, nearly shouting over the alarms.

“Commander Hartlet.” The man replied, calm as a snake. “He
said to tell you your package has arrived.”

“Package?” Barnes asked, confused. His attention was drawn
to the child again. She was watching the corpses on the floor as if she
expected them to stand up at any moment. He took a deliberate step into her
line of vision. “Was it bring your daughter to work day?” He asked the man. “This
aint the best place for a kid.”

Barnes was done now, this had to be some kind of joke. “What?
Who are you?” He demanded to know, loosening his handgun from under his armpit.

Neither of the other two so much as batted an eyelash. “I’m
Mr. Handler.” The tall man replied. “I handle your package.”

Barnes peered at him in the gloom, still unable to trust the
man before him.

“Your department hired me.” Mr. Handler said smoothly,
speaking so normally that Barnes had to strain to hear him over the continuing
screech of the siren. “They wanted a field test. This double murder of a fine
upstanding gentleman by his security guard seemed like the perfect opportunity
to see his purchase in action.”

His hand slid away from his weapon. “Purchase?” Barnes
inquired.

Mr. Handler flapped his coat slightly, his hands curling in
the pockets in a gesture of nonchalance. “Your Commander hired my services a
little while ago. Now he’s cashing in on them.”

Barnes relaxed slightly. This was less strange. The precinct
hired outside help all the time, sometimes bounty hunters, sometimes
scientists, sometimes even psychics. “So what are you, a specialist?” He asked.
He was willing to bet this man was a real-life Sherlock. Or maybe just a very
sneaky journalist.

But Mr. Handler merely laughed again. “Oh no Detective
Barnes…I’m merely the organ grinder.” His arm shot out and snagged the girl by
the hair. “This is my monkey.”

The child stiffened but didn’t struggle. A flicker of
something passed over her features, as if a bad memory had tried to take her
and she had forced it away.

“The girl?” Barnes asked, his former apprehensions
returning. “What do you mean?” The child had fisted her hands deep into the
fabric of the oversized sweater she wore, losing her arms within the material.
She looked the very picture of shy and petulant.

Mr. Handler gave her a shake, as one might a ferret they are
holding by the neck. “It’s best if you just let me do my work, Detective. Then
we can all return to our beds and earn our pay.”

Not removing his hand from the child’s hair, he tugged her
towards the corpses.

Barnes made to move forward. “I wouldn’t show her that…it’s
quite nasty.”

Mr. Handler raised an amused eyebrow. “She’s seen worse.” He
said carelessly.

Barnes decided not to wonder exactly what that could mean.

Mr. Handler bunched up the girl’s hair in his hand and then gave
her a shove towards the bodies. She stumbled terribly, struggling to free her
hands so she could break her fall. Slowly she picked herself up and faced away
from the corpses, her head lowered.

“Go on.” Mr. Handler commanded in a sweet voice. “Touch them
my dear.

The child shook her head violently. The man’s gaze clouded instantly. He grabbed her by the wrist. The child didn’t squirm, she just stood
completely still like she was trying to will herself to disappear into thin
air. Barnes watched, unsure how or if he should interfere. Mr. Handler forced
the girl’s chin upwards so that she was looking him in the eye. He glared at
her unceasingly, the promise of fury and punishment in his gaze. Finally, the
child nodded slightly.

Mr. Handler released her and nudged her towards the bodies
again. The child took a deep breath and crouched next to them, stretching one
hand towards the body of the dead security guard.

Mr. Handler blocked his movement with his arm. “Let her
work, Detective.” Was all he said. Barnes’ face contorted but he said nothing.

The child stretched her fingers towards the gash on the
security guard’s face, her eyes snapping shut as tight as they could go.
Blindly, her fingers caressed the open wound, blood gathering on her
fingertips.

Her eyes flew open. Her whole body shivered like she was
being zapped with a tazer gun. Her breathing increased and her skin grew ashen.
With a cry, she ripped her hand away from the skin of the corpse and ran across
the room, dry heaving. Mr. Handler was at her side in an instant, thumping her
on the back and offering her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth.

When she had calmed down, he led her back to the bodies and
nudged her forward again. She didn’t fight this time. Barnes watched, utterly
baffled as the process repeated itself several times. She touched the other man’s
spilling intestines, the long gash down his chest, the nail marks on the
security guard’s cheek, the baton at his belt. Each time, she went rigid and
stiff and cried out and ran away. And each time, Mr. Handler brought her right
back for more.

Finally, after nearly twenty minutes of her bizarre
behavior, she tugged on Mr. Handler’s sleeve and looked up at him with tearful
eyes.

Mr. Handler’s eyes gleamed. He drew her close and listened intently
as the child spoke in his ear, tears spilling down her face.

When she finished, her left her where she was and came back
to Barnes’ side.

“I’ve got your murderer.” He informed the Detective.

Barnes tore his gaze away from the still dry heaving girl
and raised an eyebrow. “Really? Who? The guard or the exec?”

Mr. Handler grinned like they were sharing a tantalizing secret.
“Neither.” He replied. “It was a tall, thin woman in a red jacket and black
high heels, roughly two and a half hours ago.
She used to work for the boutique across the way and would come here
often. She met the exec guy here at midnight for a regular rendezvous. She took
his hand and pulled him close for a kiss, then plunged the knife into his back.”

Barnes felt his eyebrows come together in confusion. “What?
What knife? There’s no knife.”

Mr. Handler merely held up a hand. “He shouted as he was
dying though, she missed the spot she was aiming for. When the guard came, she
panicked. Turned the knife on him and killed him too. But he managed to land a
few hits on her shoulders and back, her blood is on his baton. Afraid of what
this would look like, she positioned the bodies together, carved a few more
scratches on each of them and turned this into a fight rather than a double
murder. She hid the knife under the edge of the carpet there and fled.”

Barnes was silent as Mr. Handler explained. The story was plausible.
It would certainly explain all the blood and the multitude of wounds. But how…?

“How’d she get all that?” Barnes asked, indicating the girl
now staring at the blood covering her hands.

“She touched them.” Mr. Handler said, like it were obvious.

Barnes became angry then. “This is ridiculous.” He shouted
over the continuing ringing of the alarm. “I don’t know who you think you are
but I know a con when I see one!”

Mr. Handler’s gaze darkened so dangerously that Barnes
actually took a step back. Maybe it was the light but this man was terrifying
in the din.

Mr. Handler turned back to the child and gestured for her to
join them. She did so slowly, her thin arms trembling. Mr. Handler gestured at
Barnes with his eyes. “I think this gentleman needs proof of your skills.” He said coldly.

This time the child tried to run. But he was too quick. She had barely gone three paces before he
grabbed her and hurled her back towards Barnes.
She crashed to a heap on the floor with a cry of pain.

Barnes reached down to help the child up but she flinched
away from him as if he’d intended to hit her.

Barnes glared at his companion. “Mr. Handler, I hardly think
that was necessary.”

Barnes glanced down at the child, wondering just what she
had been told to do.

She stood shakily, her sweater hanging off of her like a
baggy pillowcase. Now that he was seeing her up close, Barnes could tell is
first impressions had been right. She was at most seven years old but very thin
and gaunt. She had a pinched nose, high forehead and a strong chin and
cheekbones. Her hair was probably the
prettiest feature about her but it snarled and tangled itself together around
her head. She looked up at him expressionlessly with gray eyes. Like tiny
clouded mirrors foggy with steam.

He stared back, unsure of what to make of her. She did not
look to him with fear or plea. She merely looked like she knew what she was
about to do and had accepted it.

Mr. Handler spoke. “Give her something, Detective. Let her
read it for you.”

Barnes reached for his badge, figuring it was the thing that
was easiest to replace if this child robbed him.

Barnes hesitated now, unsure of what to do. But the girl stared
at him unblinkingly. Slowly, she raised one finger and pointed at his breast
pocket. The Detective slid his hand inside it, then froze.

Mr. Handler smiled. “She knows what she needs, Detective.”

Barnes withdrew his hand, a small golden locket clutched in
his fist. Filled with apprehension, he opened his palm and presented it to the
child’s inspection.

She closed her eyes, wiped a single finger on her sweater to
remove the blood and very delicately touched only the locket.

Her eyes snapped open and she began to shake again. Barnes stiffened,
ready to pull his hand away but transfixed all the same. If he’d thought this
was hard to watch from a distance, it was mesmerizing up close. Her eyes had
cleared, as if all the fog had been wiped away and her whole body seemed to buzz
with energy. She stared right through him and yet seemed to be really looking
at him for the first time.

Just as soon as it had started, it ended. She ripped her
finger away from his locket and clutched the hand to her as if burned. Barnes
put a steadying hand on her shoulder, amazed at just how small and frail she
was. His hand could have circled her bicep and then some.

“It was hers.”

Barnes ducked his head slightly to catch her words. Her
voice was low and hesitant, gravelly with disuse. She refused to look at him.

“She gave you this.” The
child continued. “She was dying, blood covering her hands… and she slipped it
into your hand…she told you to remember her…and to care for him…Nathaniel.”

The name stopped his heart. He stared at her in horror now.

“But he died too…” She continued, choking on her own breath.
“and all your could do was place a single one of his baby teeth in here to
remember them both by.”

Barnes opened the locket clasp, something he hadn’t done in
ten years and had told no one about, not even the guys at the precinct. A
single pure white baby tooth rolled around on the inside of the necklace.

He let go of her like she’d delivered a powerful electric
shock to him. She just stared as he breathed heavily, staring at her and
cradling the locket in his palm.

“How…?” Barnes croaked. But he received no answer from the
eyes before him. She broke his gaze and tucked into herself, holding her bloody
hands away from her sides.

Nodded in satisfaction, Mr. Handler stalked over to the edge
of the gallery and pulled at the corner of the carpeting. A small section
peeled away like dead skin from a scab. He reached under it and retrieved
something Barnes could not make out. Leaving the carpet sticking up in a
half-peeled state, Mr. Handler walked back over to Barnes and thrust the object
into his hands.

He was so thunderstruck he nearly dropped it. It was a
hunting knife, covered in tacky congealing blood and the unmistakable stain of
fingerprints.

“I think that should about do it for us here.” Mr. Handler
said coolly, wiping traces of blood from his hands with his black handkerchief.
“I’ll be in touch with your department about my payment.”

He stowed the soiled cloth within his jacket, snapped his
fingers, and turned on his heel. The child followed him, her head low and her
thin arms trembling.

Barnes watched them go, holding the bloody knife in one hand
and his wife’s locket in the other.

The girl walked with heavy footsteps, as if she now carried
the same weight he felt everyday when he recalled that day at the hospital. As
she crossed the threshold of the door, she glanced at Barnes over her shoulder.
There was no helplessness in her gaze. Only a knowing look. Then she was gone.

The alarms continued to blare away but Barnes heard none of
it through the haze of his confusion.

Angela Perdomo:
The pace felt steady and the story was great. I felt anxious and slight anxiety for all the pain she had to go throu ghb h.. the ending felt a little rished... and there where some holes to the ending...

Kart_ed :
Shifting Greer's is a suspenseful read that keeps you guessing what's next. It is a must read for lovers of suspense or mystery, interwoven with romance. Greer is a brave character that believes in protecting those she loves, even at the cost of a friendship. I can fully sympathize with her suffe...

Melanie:
I really like it. I hope you can continue the story. Keep writing because sooner or later you will be an inspiration for other people out there. You have inspired me to keep doing what I like best(which is to write). So keep up the good work. And please continue the story.

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